


I Was Getting Kinda Used To Being Someone You Loved

by firetruckyeah



Category: Festival di Sanremo RPF, Italian music RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Metamoro is implied, Nilippo, blink and you miss it Fenji, i blame Lewis Capaldi for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firetruckyeah/pseuds/firetruckyeah
Summary: "He tried it with Filippo, he gave him everything, his mind, his body and his soul, he gave him his feelings, his love and his heart, and Filippo crushed them all."Probably the first angsty Nilippo because i was listening to sad music





	I Was Getting Kinda Used To Being Someone You Loved

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Lewis Capaldi's Someone You Loved (hence the title) and i felt in the mood for some angst, and since both Irama and Ultimo were much active on social media bc of new music and end of the tour I decided to write some Nilippo.  
> This probably sucks and I'm sorry...once again I wrote it instead of sleeping so, adding to the fact i'm not a native speaker, could lead to mistakes.  
> Please give me feedbacks as kudos and comments make my day! 
> 
> Also come and say hi to me on [Tumblr](https://baentancur.tumblr.com) :) x

There's pain. All he feels is pain. 

 

He's not sure he knows where the pain ends or even begins.  
  
He feels like his body is soaked with it, like it's everywhere, almost as if it's taken over his very essence.  
  
His heart pounds and his head throbs as he moves, he wishes that he could take the painkillers, that he could just take them, stuff them into his mouth and swallow them.  
  
But he doesn't want to depend on them, doesn't want to depend on anybody or anything every again.  


 

He already did that….and here he is, with his body broken but his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces.

He feels like he's irreparable, like his heart has been scattered too far and wide to be recovered.

He doesn't even care that it’s one in the morning and he should sleep after months of tour, after months of having to pull up a fake smile, all he cares about is the tightness in his chest and the empty feeling that envelops him.

He tried it with Filippo, he gave him everything, his mind, his body and his soul, he gave him his feelings, his love and his heart, and Filippo crushed them all.

 

He stands up to close the window, the breeze sending the curtains blowing out into the room and scattering cruel shadows dancing across the walls in the low glare of the lamps he's lit.

He shuts it and stays there, he gazes outside to the street thinking about their first date as a couple, the moment when Filippo kissed him for the first time, the street which Filippo had run down after a month apart and the streetlight where Filippo had left him broken and sobbing.

He doesn't know why he won't just move, start new somewhere in the city, somewhere fresh and inviting, maybe the house next to Fabrizio is still for sale, maybe there's something somewhere that won't feel too big and too cold like his heart does.

 

Perhaps he feels like if he stays that Filippo will come back, he’ll come running down the street with an apology and a smile and a monologue of why he was wrong and how much he regrets his decision.

But he knows it won't happen, he knows that Filippo won't come back, that bridge had been burned when Niccolò had called him angry and selfish over the phone.

Niccolò had ended it all with the words “if you really loved me, you’d have supported me”

He closes the curtains and heads to the bed, he slumps onto it and maybe he imagines that he can still smell Filippo's perfume, that he can still see the smile that he'd woken up to so many times. Maybe he imagines that the bed's still warm where he would lie, his side, the side that Niccolò can't bring himself to occupy, the side that stays empty and cold.

He rolls over and wills sleep to take him, to take the pain from his mind. It comes but it doesn't.

 

Fabrizio is his one constant, is friend who act like a dad to him, the one who keeps him connected and sane, the one who is round to make sure that he eats and sleeps and showers.

Niccolò draws the line at shaving, Filippo hated facial hair on him, said it made him look unkempt so to spite him he doesn't shave he grows it out, he knows that Filippo would see the pictures of him and he wants him to see, wants him see that he's fine, that he's over him, but he knows that it just makes him look like he's been destroyed by him.

Fabrizio sighs when he calls round, tries to get Niccolò to come out, socialise with his firneds.

But he shakes his head, there's too much to do and too little time, too much pain to wallow in, too much self pity at the break up. 

He hates that he lies to Fabrizio, hates that Fabrizio knows how much pain he’s in and hates that Fabrizio can’t help him because he can’t (or won’t) let him, he hates Fabrizio for asking him if he wants him to call Ermal to talk with the older like he’s a dumb kid.

He misses him, e fucking misses him and he hates himself for it.

He hates wanting Filippo when he left him, he hates that he still loves him.

 

He cries himself to sleep and doesn't realise that he moves to his side of the bed sometime in the night before he moves back to his own side, he doesn't realise that he hugs the pillow that Filippo lay on so many times, he doesn't realise how much he needs him still. 

It's frustrating when he finally agrees with Fabrizio and closes his front door behind him, he doesn't know how to be out and about anymore, he doesn't know how to act around people and it hurts. These people, they're not him, they're not Filippo

. 

He sees him everywhere, in everybody, in that guy at the bar smiling at his girlfriend, the DJ, even in the smile at Benjamin flashes him.

His head spins as fast as the music and he has to leave, he needs air and he stumbles outside gasping for breath, the cold air hits him and he’s crouching down in a dark corner vomiting up whatever he’s eaten as he imagines that Filippo is there, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he empties his stomach onto the pavement.

But it’s not him, it’s Federico. 

His friends shakes his head in concern and takes him home, Federico is warm as he holds him, calming him down as he sobs against him, Niccolò can’t remember ever feeling safer with someone hugging him that wasn’t Filippo and he doesn’t fight the hold, he gives into it, lets Federico cradle him and tell him it’s ok.

 

It’s only when he stops crying and sits up dazed that he realises he’s not at home, he’s in Federico’s hotel room.

He’s curled up on his bed with Federico by his side, he watches him carefully and Niccolò feels naked and exposed, as if Federico is scanning him for answers.

“You have to get over him” Federico says softly, so softly he almost misses it, “I…I can’t” two simple words and he’s breaking again. 

He had thought his heart couldn’t break any more, had thought that he was as shattered and broken as he could be, but he isn’t.

Federico reaches out to him carefully and tugs him back to him, and holds him tightly as his body crumbles and his mind slips away.

 

It’s bright when he wakes, the walls are different and the blinds cracked just slightly to let light stream into the room, he doesn’t recognise the room but he hears Federico talking quietly outside. He’s not sure if it’s Benjam or someone else but he rises slowly and his feet take him to the bathroom.

The water is cold but his skin feels better, his eyes less puffy and his cheeks less clammy as he stares at himself in the mirror, he thinks back to what Federico said “get over him”, and he knows that it isn’t that he can’t, it's that he won’t. He doesn’t want to.

Despite everything he’s said and done to Filippo and despite Filippo moving further away to chase success, leaving him he still loves him, he craves and needs him, his body wants him around him, near him,  _inside_  him.

He takes the shirt that Federico has left for him and replaces his own with it before he leaves the room slowly, not wanting to intrude on Federico’s conversation, he pauses at the bottom of the stairs as he hears voices, he hears a laugh and his heart pounds.

 

He hears a cough and he realises it's not him, his body relaxes as he rounds the corner, his muscles uncoiling as he comes to terms with the fact that he's not here, his mind was tricking him, trying to make him believe that Filippo would be here.

Ermal smiles at him and Niccolò tries to return the smile, he knows, Fabrizio has told him.

Niccolò sinks on to the sofa opposite Ermal and lowers his head, Ermal’s gaze is piercing, he can feel it even though he can’t see it, he feels it shattering through whatever semblance of shields he’s got up around, he feels it reading him as easily as if Niccolò was spilling everything to him.

Eventually Ermal speaks, his voice soft and lilting “you should talk to him Niccolò. You should tell him how you feel.”

“I can’t. I’ve left it too long, and I ended it with my selfishness” his voice breaks as he speaks and he hates himself for showing weakness over love, “he’s probably moved on by now” he wishes that that’s not true as he says the words.

 

 

“I doubt it somehow. I saw him every time he came back from seeing you, he was a wreck, and then every time he was about to see you it was like he was walking on air. He loves you more than you know.”

Niccolò knows he’s right, knows that Ermal is telling the truth because that’s exactly as he felt, how he feels, but yet, he shakes his head “I ruined everything.”

It’s the last thing Niccolò says before he’s running for the bedroom, the door slams behind him and he sinks to the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest and head buried into them as his body breaks all over again.

He decides to walk home when he’s more composed, he thought of sitting in a car with Federico or Ermal  was unappealing at the least and he declines the offer, fresh air would do him good.

The walk is slow, his feet barely lift from the pavement as he moves, the changing colour of the leaves that usually fascinates him holds no beauty, only memories.

 

He remembers strolling through parks with Filippo, hats pulled low over their faces, fingers brushing softly and shoulders bumping, he remembers the smile as he kicked through a pile of crisp leaves and the laughter on his face when had woken Niccolò up from his nap with cold water months later.

Summer frustrates him now, the sun above him is just an annoying disturbance to his peaceful walk, the colours are bland and nothing and the air is just cold this year, there’s no anticipation of being cooled up by some ice cream and a shared cold shower.

He doesn’t even realise he’s home, his mind on autopilot, until he’s turning to climb the stairs to the block, he pauses with his hand on the rail as he fishes for his keys and looks up to the door.

 

Filippo.

 

Everything stands still for Niccolò, his mind and body freeze as he sees the face that brings him joy and the eyes that he could spend years drowning in.

He’s sitting on the top step, his elbows on his knees and his eyes fixed on Niccolò, Ermal must’ve called him, or Fabrizio, or Benji and Fede, he doesn’t care who did.

Niccolò sees the red rings around his eyes, the slight puffiness and it hits him, Ermal was right.

He sees the pain etched in the frown on his face and the weariness in his eyes, he sees the slump in his body and the insecurity in his sad smile.

Their exchange it’s wordless, Niccolò says nothing just looks at him and sees a reflection of himself, he climbs the steps and squeezes his shoulder softly.

He feels a jolt run through his body at the minimal contact and buzzes the door open, he hears Filippo stand and follow him in, still not speaking.

 

The door is barely closed behind them when Niccolò breaks, and Filippo does too. It’s frantic, the kiss that follows, it’s teeth and tongues and hands grabbing at clothes.

Niccolò feels himself falling, feels his body aching as Filippo gets a hand on his hip and his mind emptying as they’re moving backwards, a bump against the wall and Niccolò stops, panting, chest heaving. 

He licks his lips, tastes Filippo against him again with a shudder, he realises that no matter how far he can’t be without him, he needs to know that at some point Filippo will be there, kissing him, touching him, just with him.

He hums and gazes at him, his eyes are wide and his cheeks flushed and Niccolò caresses softly, thumb brushing over the corner of his lips.

 

He's warm and inviting, as he always is, he's open and smiles just a little, a little glimpse of the smile that Niccolò knows lies below, a tiny fragment of who he is. 

The words are stilted and nervous “I’m sorry” Filippo nods and mutters, “me too,” and then kisses him again, softer this time, slower and deeper.

Niccolò swears he sees stars when Filippo’s hand snakes around his waist and he’s drawn against him, he melts into him, relishing the feel of him there, with him, around him, invading him.

It’s like nothing happened, like he wasn’t an idiot, like Filippo wasn’t stubborn and needing more. 

He wakes in the morning to coffee and pastries on his nightstand, he smiles as he sits up and spots Filippo by the window, cradling a mug in his hands, Niccolò watches him for a few minutes letting his mind preserve the image of him standing there, standing in the spot where he never thought he’d see him again; before he wanders over and wraps his arms around him and rests his chin on his shoulder.

“I missed this view” it’s quiet and Niccolò almost misses it, “I missed this view from this room.”

 

Niccolò smiles and kisses his neck softly, relishes the feel of having Filippo’s skin against his lips again, it’s as soft as he remembers, but this time it feels more wondrous and perfect.

Perhaps it’s the memory of how he felt not having Filippo in his life, or perhaps it’s the summer sun shining on them, either way his happiness is real and he feels elated.

He knows they should talk about it, know they should get it all out in the open, stop it happening again, but he doesn’t want to break the mood.

“Can we go for a walk? Can we go to the park?” he mutters, and squeezes him tightly, “I’d love to. But eat first please.” 

Niccolò feels the warmth radiating from him and he doesn’t want to let go but he knows he has to at some point.

 

The wind is chilly outside and he pulls his hoodie to cover his hands, tugging his snapback low in an action that Filippo mirrors.

Niccolò does something he wouldn’t have done before, he reaches out and tangles their fingers together, not caring that anyone could see, not caring for the simple fact that he was happy.

They walk slowly and Niccolò begins to see the colours in vibrant hues of blue, and greens and golds, hears the the bird singing and he smiles.

They sit on a bench, Niccolò’s head on Filippo’s shoulder and their arms interwined for what seems like hours.

 

The sun is warm now and he shivers, but there’s the promise of ice cream, there’s the promise of a ice cold shower together, and the promise of a night spent together. 

He suddenly wants to go back inside, wants to spend his day wrapped around Filippo with no one watching, but he needs to do something first.

He pulls Filippo against him, he runs his thumb over the soft skin of his hand and feels the shiver from beside him.

“I’m sorry” he whispers, repeats the words of the night before, “can we start again? Can we start over?”

“Starting with our first kiss?” Filippo’s voice is low and Niccolò nods. 

It’s oh so sweet, much sweeter than the first time around and Niccolò never wants it to end, he wants to stay like this with him forever, he wants Filippo’s hands cradling his face between them and he wants the closeness of their bodies.

He wants Filippo invading every inch of him, he wants the taste of him on his lips and he wants the smell of his skin on his, he just wants him. 

He breaks the kiss and smiles shyly, Filippo always makes him feel like he’s the only person on the face of the earth that can make him smile and his gaze is loving, almost longing, he grins and grabs his hands to pull him up in the direction of home.

 

Ice cream sounds perfect so long as Niccolò can kiss the taste of it off his lips all night.

And perhaps he'll even shave for him too.


End file.
